


The Tiniest Spark

by Ladyoftarth



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Canon, F/M, Spoilers, after the wars, post a dance with dragons
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-14
Updated: 2013-10-14
Packaged: 2017-12-29 08:44:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,147
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1003366
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ladyoftarth/pseuds/Ladyoftarth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She thought her fires had burned dead when it came to Jaime Lannister, but the sight of him stirred the cold embers of her heart, to unveil something she thought long extinguished. She grabbed his hand, stopping him from going any further.  He misunderstood and brought her hand close to his lips, kissing her finger tips, placing her hand against his unshaven face.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Tiniest Spark

**Author's Note:**

> Had not planned to write these two again so soon, but this challenge was very inspiring. Thanks to Ellaria for organizing all this!
> 
> A work inspired by Bjork's "Isobel" (Deodato mix), a shuffle challenge from www.jaimebrienne.org
> 
> http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uspz28eoCC0

There had been a flicker of time when she foolishly thought he might care for her in some way, but he had returned to Kingslanding, to his white cloak, and to his golden sister. She remained a maid, alone and married to her duties, and if her skill could continue to serve her well she would remain one until her dying breath.

 

Her quests completed, she had returned home to the castle of her youth nestled on an island in the deep azure waters of Tarth. The Stark girls had been given back to their strange undead mother as promised.  Their oaths fulfilled there was no reason for Jaime to be bound to her or she to him. Though for a brief moment she had thought he wanted her, and she him.

 

The first year after they had parted ways Brienne couldn’t dispense of Jaime’s memory, as vehemently as she tried. When she closed her eyes at night every detail of his face came to her, his playful green eyes, each strand of golden hair, she could barely recall her long deceased father’s features, but Jaime’s form had continued to haunt her thoughts, both waking and in slumber. It was embarrassing to admit the tears she had shed in the beginning.  So many tears, more bitter than the ones she had shed for Renly. In time his face faded from her memory too, like a ripple breaking the quiet waters of a stream the reflection was there, but the details lost.  Each passing year was a relief, her heart ached less, and her mind could focus on more pertinent matters. Practical and tedious things like managing the day-to-day functions of her homeland and Evanfall Hall.

Her father had become sick, mere months after her arrival home; she had tended to him throughout his illness, her heart heavy with the guilt of not returning sooner.  She had been a selfish daughter, wanting to escape undesired betrothals.  Leaving to secure her own personal glory, to fight for a King she loved, to become a true knight, dying in the name of duty and honour had been welcomed notions then.  During her journey she had found the way much darker and uglier than she could have imagined.  She herself had returned darker and uglier if truth be told.

 

Brienne stared at her reflection in the mirror that had been her mothers, her long fingers brushing gingerly at the old familiar and ugly scar that marred her freckled cheek.  A reminder of what life was like beyond the shores of her home, a reminder to stay.

 

“He waits for you in the yard milady.” A servant announced her opponents’ presence.

 

Another unwanted suitor had come to her gates.  To fight her for her hand, but more importantly the title and lands it came with. As winter wore on, there were more and more challengers landing on her shores.  The knights who persisted and demanded a right to combat even after laying their eyes upon her face were granted their request, given they could pay the tribute.  Battling the unwanted suitors served two purposes.  For Brienne it was a welcomed excuse to swing a sword again.  The second reasoning was much more practical, to replenish their food stores.  Each combatant who asked for her hand were required to bring a food offering, and if their tribute was deemed worthy they earned the right to combat Lady Brienne.  The winner would have her, and all her holdings.  After scores of challengers she had remained unwed, but the castles supply rooms were overflowing, thanks to her victories.  Evanfall Hall was faring much better than the other noble houses on the mainland, if the rumours were to be believed.

 

Brienne called for her squire, he brought her sword and shield, and with him trailing behind she made her way out to the battle yard. The day was predictably cold and crisp, the sky cloudless and blue, she squinted against the glare of the light off the snow.  Many spectators were gathered in the yard, eager to watch their Lady battle the newest challenger come to Tarth.

 

Brienne did not think much of her opponent’s garb.  Helmed, and carrying a ridiculously garish painted shield of orange, a mound of golden hay as its sigil. A sorry looking knight in ramshackle armour, from Haystack Hall, it did not matter to Brienne his appearance, what did matter was the barrels of ale and grain he came with.  Knowing he was from a turncoat house, one that had pledged their allegiance to Stannis was an unexpected incentive for Brienne to turn him out.

Her young squire fastened her armour, placed her helm upon her head, and delivered her sword, the one that had been her fathers.  A fine sword, it was the second finest sword she had ever carried.

She nodded to her competitor and readied herself for his attack.  With alert observation she studied his movements, his stance, how he carried his sword and shield.  Slow and steady movements usually indicated a longer fight, those that seemed eager and aggressive always proved shorter.  The knight from Haystack Hall circled the yard slowly, and crouched defensively.  Brienne smiled beneath her helm.  This was going to be a long one.

 

 

* * *

 

 

When Cersei had traveled into the darkened Kingswoods that night he should have guessed at his sisters intentions.  She had dismissed him from his duties as Lord Commander, a legitimate excuse being as he no longer had a hand to fight with.  Given enough time and practice he had managed to adequately train himself to become competent with his left, but his sister refused.  _You are a ghost of what you once were, I will not have you be remembered that way,_ had been her exact words.  The hurt of her dismissal did not affect him as it once could have; it was an excuse to leave Kingslanding, to be off with Brienne.  Their enemies were vanquished, Tommen sat safely upon the Ironthrone, and Cersei no longer had any use for him.  He could be free of his sister’s plots and schemes, free from the intrigues of court, free from undeserved slurs of lords and commoners alike.

 

The day he shared the news of his dismissal from the Kingsguard with Brienne, her face had immediately reflected a genuine concern for what she surely felt was a terrible loss.

 

“It matters not.  There are other houses to defend, if they would have me” He had said his eyes pointedly looking for hers, hoping she understood his meaning.

 

“There are.” She returned simply. “And they would.”

 

They had left together mounted on two horses with plans to catch a boat sailing to Tarth.  They packed little, two simple canvas tents, and food supplies, enough for their journey. They would travel alone as they had done before, who cares what rumours followed Brienne to her home?  And he would be her husband soon enough. They sat awake most nights when they camped, their bodies pressed close to one another’s, an excuse to enjoy the feeling of each other’s warmth.  Her muscular legs pressed against his stirred his groin.  He imagined what it would be like to set his palm upon her thigh to slowly caress his way up to her sex, to touch the Lady Brienne where no man had ever ventured, he wondered what her moans would sound like, moans he knew he could elicit from those plump lips.  He refrained from pursuing his lustful thoughts, and when he was certain she was asleep he would relieve himself, honouring Brienne’s chastity.  It was the one thing he could yet still be noble about, maddening as it was.

 

It was near dusk on the third night of their travel, the day had been calm and they were making good progress through the Kingswood. The hooting of an owl echoed mournfully in the distance. Brienne had left to forage for the nightly fires kindling.  Jaime was attempting to sew a small tear in his red cloak.  The work was clumsy and he lacked the dexterity to make the fine stitches he had always been able to with his right hand.  Frustrated he cursed and dropped the cloak in his lap. It was getting to be too dark for mending. Brienne was taking exceptionally long in finding firewood; he was getting hungry and was eager to start a fire so he could prepare their meal. He turned his head at the sound of oncoming horses.  Gathering his cloak and sword he hid behind a tree, hoping to spy the party before they made it to their camp.  The Kingdom was much safer after the wars had ended, but even before the war it had always been wise to err on the side of caution whilst traveling.

 

“Cersei?” Jaime stepped out of his hiding place to greet his sister. She was splendidly dressed in warm wine coloured velvets and furs, her hair tucked beneath a cap and scarf. Her skin looked pale, but her cheeks and nose were pink from the cold, it gave her a youthful appearance, she reminded him of the Cersei from their youth.

“Brother. I’m glad I’ve found you.” Cersei halted her horse; her men came to a stop as well. “I need to speak with you. I desire to say a proper good-bye.”

 

He wasn’t sure how it had happened.  There had been wine, warm words, and then sweet kisses.  She had been at him first, and he protested in the beginning of her advances, but as she persisted to kiss, caress, and pull him in towards her his old desires re-flamed hot.  He was at her lips, neck and breasts, kissing and loving her like they use to, before the war, the trials, the murders, before Daenerys Targaryen, Tyrion and the rest, before Brienne.  The thought of Brienne froze his blood in his veins. This was wrong.  He said his sister’s name, a gentle plea for her to stop, but it was too late.

Brienne stood silently, the gathered wood still in her arms, her face expressionless like a mask, but there was a flurry of emotions in those blue eyes staring at him, piercing through him.  He had never felt so small, not even his lord father’s looks of disapproval had cut him as deeply as the way Brienne’s eyes seared through him that day.

 

Brienne said not a word, dropped the gathered wood upon the snowy forest floor and left him alone with his sister. Cersei was pressed against a tree, her long golden hair tussled, she had a quiet look of victory set upon her features, a small crooked smile, an indication she was enjoying the moment.  _She_ had done this. It was no accident that Brienne had happened upon this spot, Cersei’s handmaiden trailing behind.  Disgusted he pushed his sister to the side and never laid eyes upon her again.

 

 

 

Brienne returned to Tarth alone.

 

* * *

 

Her opponent held up his orange shield, his sword held firmly in his hand beckoning her to come at him. Brienne did not balk at his arrogance.  The victory always proved to be all the sweeter whenever they underestimated her. She swung at the knight, testing his speed and defences.  The swing was parried by his shield; the Haystack Knight stepped to the side.  He moved with grace and ease.  

It had been ages since she had faced a worthy combatant and Brienne grew excited at the thought of a real challenge.  She swung again with more strength, the Haystack Knight dodged and returned with a blow to her side, the impact cut her breath short, and she raised her blade barely blocking another of his fierce swings.  Her elation at the prospect of a challenging fight quickly disolving into concern.

 

The crowd of spectators grew as the two knights continued their duel.  It had been years since they had seen their lady fight a worthy challenger.  Their swords crashed into each other, shields bashing, and splintering.  The sounds of their exertion rose up into the winter sky, bouncing and echoing off the stone courtyard walls.  The Haystack Knight smashed his shield into Brienne’s chin, the impact snapped her head backwards, she cried out and her eyes forced shut by the sharp pain.  Dizzy and blind she fell to her knees barely managing to block her opponents next blow,  Her grip was weak and he expertly snapped her blade from her hand.  Using both her hands she held her shield to block his downward strikes.  The shield could only hold so long, and her bones vibrated with each of his thunderous attacks. Brienne screamed as she lifted herself from the ground, smashing her shield into his guts.  It was enough to cause the knight to buckle over, clutching his midsection in pain.  Brienne discarded her ruined shield and tackled the knight to the ground.  They went down hard onto the cold stone floor, Brienne on top attempted to wrestle his sword away from him, bashing his arm repeatedly against the ground, hoping his fingers would loosen and give around the swords hilt. Amazingly the knight threw his sword away, Brienne watched in disbelief as the blade flew far from their reach, the move was a distraction, one she realized too late, as he delivered his orange shield to her skull cracking it against her temple, a blow so hard it loosened her helm from her head.

 

Brienne fell limply against the Haystack Knight she had been straddling, barely clinging to consciousness she felt the cold dagger as it pressed against her throat.

“Yield,” He demanded his breath heavy from the fight.

Her life of being married to herself, not belonging to any man, her strongly fought for freedom was all about to crash upon her. Brienne swallowed, her throat constricted with the bitterness of the defeat.

“I yield.”

“Thank the Gods.”  Came the knights exhausted reply.  He removed his helm to reveal a mane of dirty golden locks.

Brienne’s heart beat faster than she thought possible.  Her limbs stiffened, and her eyes widened in disbelief.  Jaime unstrapped his shield, revealing the lack of a right hand.  Her head was throbbing as he gently guided her to the ground.  

“Are you terribly hurt?”  He took a white cloth from inside his chest armour, wiping at the blood dripping down from her temple.  

Brienne blinked unbelieving the man tending to her wounds was really before her.

“I see you speak as eloquently as I remember.” Jaime jested as he pressed the cloth to her face, dabbing at the blood trickling down near her eyes.

“Why are you here?” Brienne finally spoke.

“No one else is to be your lord husband but me.”         

His words couldn’t have incited any more fury in her.  Brienne lunged at Jaime knocking him into the ground; she pushed herself up, desperate to move away from him, his teasing, his cruelty, and his lies.  

“Brienne!” He called after her.

 

Unsteady and half blind from the blood flowing down her face she shoved her way past gaping slack-jawed spectators, their silence would soon turn into murmurs, and rumours would be flying quickly that their liege lady had finally been defeated.  The fervour of their gossip would only be amplified upon learning it was none other than the Kingslayer himself.

Brienne wobbled into the great hall before she weakly stumbled into a chair, her head dizzy from her wound, her face and neck covered with blood.  She wished she had the sense to take Jaime’s cloth from him before she had stormed off.  There were amazingly no servants around to ask for assistance.

“Stubborn as ever I see.” Jaime limped towards her as he held his side. Brienne noted his injuries; glad she had not made his victory easy.

“Why come now? Why, after all these years?”

“You wound me wench.  I thought that I had perfected fighting with my offhand in scant amount of time, and you are no ordinary swordsman… woman. I had to be certain I could beat you.”  He knelt before her wiping her blood away again. “I’m thankful for your skill; it would have killed me to learn you had married another.

“Perhaps I should not have fought so well.” Came her reply.

“I’m sorry.  Is that what your ears yearn to hear? Even after all these years?” Jaime had an edge of anger to his words.  His apology was the most poorly delivered that Brienne had ever heard.

“Why do you torment me? What have I ever done to deserve this cruelty from you _Ser_?” She delivered the last word with a tinge of anger and sarcasm.

“You left me if I recall correctly.”

“Your memory is lacking.”

“Ah yes… that.”  He had the decency to look away at her accusing glare.

“How is your sister?” Brienne took the cloth from him, and pressed it to her head, hoping the pressure would stop the bleeding.

“I do not know. I haven’t seen her since that day in the Kingswood” Jaime answered simply.

Surprised by his answer Brienne remained silent.

“I struck off on my own the day you left, living as a hedge knight, entering the odd tournament whenever I could. I hesitate to admit this, but in the beginning losing most. I learned of this challenge you set for wandering miscreants.  What in the Gods names were you thinking?  What if one of them had succeeded in defeating you?”

“None did.”

Jaime smiled and continued, “The thought of Brienne of Tarth marrying some land grubbing hedge knight... it just didn’t sit well with me.” Jaime began to unbuckle his sorry looking armour; each article he removed seemed to indicate an assortment of makers’ hands. He had been living meagrely.

“What are you doing?”  Brienne asked.

“Making myself more comfortable in my new home.”

“You can’t be serious.”

“I’ve always known you to be a woman of your word.”  Jaime began the work of removing her armour as well. Brienne couldn’t help but marvel at the ease in which he was able to do his work one handed. She could move away from him again, turn him out, and demand he leave.  He was so close to her, his fingers were warm; she closed her eyes unwillingly enjoying the nearness of him.

  
She thought her fires had burned dead when it came to Jaime Lannister, but the sight of him stirred the cold embers of her heart, to unveil something she thought long extinguished. She grabbed his hand, stopping him from going any further.  He misunderstood and brought her hand close to his lips, kissing her finger tips, placing her hand against his unshaven face.

“Do me the honour Brienne, be my wife.”  His green eyes pleaded with her.

A warm tear fell from her eye, and a simple nod of yes was her reply.

**Author's Note:**

> ... and this is where I shamelessly request kudos and comments :)
> 
> I also did an illustration as part of the challenge: http://i.imgur.com/BuX6sgAl.jpg?1


End file.
